


Out of the Blue

by AgnesBlue



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 22:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6443923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesBlue/pseuds/AgnesBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>*ON HIATUS*</b>
</p><p>“Look what I got you!” Peter bellowed.<br/>“What?” Derek said.<br/>“He’s all yours.”<br/>“Peter, what are you talking about?”<br/>“Told you I’d get you something nice, didn’t I? He’s your birthday present,” Peter said, clearly proud of himself. “Won him in a game of poker.”</p><p>AU in which Peter complicates Derek's life by getting him a human he didn't ask for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Blue

It was no secret that Peter did what he wanted. From being rude and crass, to committing slimy, borderline illegal acts that made no sense except in his own twisted, Machiavellian mind, his I-do-what-I-want meter knew no bounds. He had been dubbed the black sheep of the family since he reached his father’s thigh, and he deserved every bit of the title. But he really outdid himself one night, when he brought over a human boy to Derek’s apartment.

It was late in the evening, and Derek had been enjoying a few undisturbed hours of working on his company project when a fist started banging against the wood. He jumped at the noise, nearly knocking over the bottle of water he always kept close by. He steadied it quickly, relieved that it hadn’t tipped over; his desk was a mess of papers. The banging grew louder despite his calls that he was _coming, dammit_ , and he hastened to get to the door.

“Happy birthday!” Peter cried out the moment Derek allowed him in. He must have been at a bar of some sort; the stale smell of cigarettes and cheap beer smacked Derek between the eyes like an arrow to a bulls-eye. His uncle was pickled with alcohol, voice booming cheerfully in the way only intoxicated men could manage.

“Peter,” Derek said, embarrassed from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, flapping his hands about and trying to shush him. His birthday had been six months ago.

Peter drew him in a drunken-man’s embrace, meaning that not only did he squeeze him as if he meant to break every one of Derek’s ribs, he rubbed his sandpapery cheek against Derek’s until it began to chafe. This display of affection revealed how truly and utterly smashed he was. “How’s my favorite nephew?”

Derek didn’t bother replying that he was Peter’s only nephew. He extricated himself from under the hand vigorously ruffling his hair. Peter’s breath stank of whiskey and vodka and other sour things. “What are you doing here?” he said instead as civilly as he could manage, keeping his voice down to a public library-appropriate level in the hopes that Peter would get the hint and follow suit. No such luck.

“Why, I wanted to see you, of course!”

That was exactly what he was afraid of.

His uncle wasn’t alone; a young man stood next to him, his expression sullen and closed-off, and Derek glanced at him in confusion. His first thought that he was perhaps a taxi driver and had come upstairs along with his fare, expecting payment because Peter had forgotten his wallet. Or upchucked in the backseat. But just as he was about to ask _can I help you,_  Peter gave the boy a mighty clap on the ass with the flat of his hand, making him leap forward a step.

“Look what I got you!” Peter bellowed.

“What?” Derek said. 

“He’s all yours.”

“Peter, what are you talking about?”

“Told you I’d get you something nice, didn’t I? He’s your birthday present,” Peter said, clearly proud of himself. “Won him in a game of poker.”

“You what?” Derek was horrified.

“Got this as well, but it’s for me.” Peter held up his arm, where a gold watch was clasped around his wrist. Derek had no doubt it was obscenely expensive. “You can’t have it.”

“Peter. I don’t want him. This is – ” He stopped and tried to calm down. Pissing Peter off would only make things worse. “Thank you, I appreciate that you haven’t forgotten about my present, but I can’t accept him.”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s too much.”

“Nonsense!”

“Give me a gift certificate instead. For groceries,” Derek said desperately. “I always need groceries.”

“Nonsense,” Peter said again. “An entire loaf of bread couldn’t keep you warm and toasty the way this boy can. He’ll butter you right up, if you get my drift.” Peter dropped a pin-up girl wink.

No, Derek did not get his drift. He had no idea what his uncle was talking about.

Peter started unzipping his jacket, and for a horrified second Derek thought he was stripping, oh God, he was getting naked for some inexplicable reason. Images of him chasing after his uncle’s bare butt around the apartment hallway flooded his already frazzled mind. But then, Peter reached in through the opening and took out a thick envelope. He slapped it onto Derek’s palm.

“His documents, so you know I didn’t steal him. As if, eh?"

"Peter - "

"And my job here is done. Enjoy!” he said, with a waggle of his brows.

Derek was in a full state of panic by now. “You can’t just leave him here! Peter! I’m busy. I don’t have the time to look after a human. Take him back.”

“Back where?”

“I don't know. To the guys you got him from.”

“Why’d I do that? I won him fair and square.”

“I don’t fucking want him,” Derek snapped, finally reaching the end of his tether. This was ridiculous. Peter had no right to dump a human on his doorstep.

Peter’s eyes went surgically sharp and he abruptly dropped the jolly _ho ho ho_ -ing Santa shtick. He quit listing about like a sailboat out in stormy waters and it was as if he had never been drunk at all.

“Then do whatever you want. It’s no skin off my nose. Goodnight.”

“No, wait, you can’t – ”

But he was already gone, leaving Derek open-mouthed and the boy still standing in the corner. Derek could hear his leather loafers clipping on the tiles until it faded into nothing. Bastard.

“Great. Just what I need,” Derek said wretchedly.

“Yeah. Sucks that your week’s all ruined,” the boy muttered and startled, Derek turned to look at him.

The sarcasm floundered him. He had never been spoken to rudely by a human before and it was so incongruous to the deferent manner he was used to, that for a second, Derek wondered if he’d even heard correctly. He didn’t know how to respond.

The kid stood still as Derek examined him, staring down at the floor, eyes glittering with anger, mouth set in an unhappy line. He was dirty, as if he had slept on dirt floors all his life. His cheeks were streaked brown and his shirt hung on him like a dingy sheet. An unpleasant smell wafted from him.

The minutes ticked by. Derek was at a complete loss what to do, but he knew he couldn't keep the boy standing in the entryway forever like a potted plant. But again, the boy was _filthy_. He looked like dirt would spill out of his ears if he tilted his head sideways.

“Come inside,” Derek said, and in his utter frustration, his voice came out sounding curt and mean. He pointed a finger to the other side of the room. Derek briefly considered spreading out a path of newspapers for him to walk on, but that was too unkind. "Take off your shoes first."

At that, the kid's jaws clenched tight. "I'm not wearing any," he said.

Oh. A glance down told him that he was telling the truth; grubby bare toes were poking out from underneath the disgusting mud and balls of dust-encrusted hem of his jeans. Well, how the hell was he supposed to have known? Derek didn't understand why the kid was so pissy at _him_.

“Go into the bathroom. Over there.”

Expression still tightly knotted, the boy did as he was told. He didn’t look around as he went, gaze fixed on the floor. Moments later, he stood in the middle of the bathroom, shivering although it wasn't cold, arms crossed over his chest and awaiting further instruction.

Now what? He couldn’t keep the boy inside there like a dog.

“Um,” Derek said. He slipped inside the bathroom, missing the way the kid tensed up and took a stuttering step away from him, fearful eyes flitting around desperately for anything to use as a weapon. “Wash up. There’s soap and…” The kid didn’t look like he had enough hair to shampoo. “…stuff. I’ll get you some towels.”

He rummaged about the closet and came back with two large towels and a faded pair of sweatshirt and pants that he had been meaning to get rid of. He also brought a plastic bag and fluffed it out. “Put your clothes in here. And empty the pockets. I’m going to throw them away.”

The boy wordlessly took the items, eyes still focused on the tiles of the bathroom.

“Be liberal with the soap,” Derek said, because that sounded far better than telling the boy that he stank to high heaven.

“Are you going to watch me?” the boy asked stiffly.

“No, why on earth would I watch you?”

"You... you're not going to..."

Derek waited. "What?"

The boy didn’t finish the question. Derek shut the door behind him and the instant he did, he heard the lock twist in place. 

It was only then that Derek let his shoulders fall in a slump. He rubbed his face angrily with both hands, so frustrated that it felt as if his chest was being squeezed in a clamp. He wanted to howl and scream and pound the walls to dust. Trust Peter to just… make a mess of things, when it had been going along so nicely. He wanted back his peace and quiet. In a fit of anger, he snatched up his cellphone and dialed the number. He counted the rings _one, two, come on come on three, pick up please four_ , until there was a click.

“Mom,” he began miserably.

“Hello, honey.”

“Mom,” he said again. He ran his fingers through his hair. Inside the bathroom, the faucet squeaked and a steady stream of water hit the tub. “Crap. I didn’t realize how late it was. Were you sleeping?”

“No, not at all. Your dad and I are watching the Walking Dead together.”

“Oh, geez. Is he into zombies again?” His dad tended to like monsters on rotation, but zombies would always be his first love.

“Better zombies than vampires. Now that would be embarrassing," his mom said with a laugh. "You sound upset. Is everything all right?”

He opened his mouth to unleash a torrent of complaints, then hesitated. What was he supposed to say? _Mommy, help? Your baby brother is a fucking lunatic? Why didn’t you smother him with a pillow when you had the chance?_   No. This was something he needed to figure out on his own. He was a big boy now. And after Kate, he was always looking for ways to prove to his family that he did indeed have his shit together.

He sighed. “I’m tired, that’s all. Work is brutal at the moment. I guess I… just wanted to hear your voice.”

Not quite true, but listening to his alpha's voice never failed to steady his nerves.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Your boss still running you ragged?”

“Yeah, you know how he is.”

“Do you want me to go over there and yell at him?” she said, and they both smiled. She was never one to interfere in her childrens’ lives. Unfortunately. His mom could probably make his boss piss his pants in five seconds flat.

“That would be nice.”

“Get a good night’s sleep.”

“Yeah.”

“Do try to drop by on Saturday. Your dad's making that fish curry dish you like.”

“I’ll try.”

He ended the call and set the cellphone to the side. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, his thoughts twisting about like a coil of snakes.

All throughout the conversation, he had been aware of the sounds coming from the bathroom. The flush of the toilet and the seat going back down. The thunk of the bar soap being dropped on the tub. It was quiet now; the shower had stopped running some time ago and the last of the water gurgled down the drain, but the boy wasn’t coming outside. Derek wondered if he was doing something drastic in there, like chewing his wrists open, but he could hear his heartbeat, steady as the ticking of a metronome. It belatedly dawned on him that he hadn’t given the boy clean underwear to wear in place of his old one.

Speaking of a good night’s sleep, a glance at the clock told him that it was a few minutes before midnight. The late hour meant there was nothing he could do about the human until the next day. He found a thick blanket from the closet and set it atop the couch. He moved about in the kitchen, taking out this and that, banging the microwave door shut and jabbing buttons.

When the kid finally came out of the shower, Derek was waiting for him with a plate of heated lasagna and a cup of orange juice. This time, he didn’t miss the way the kid’s eyes cut straight to the food, as if it were the only thing in the room. He walked over cautiously, then stopped a few feet away, as if too scared to come any closer. Derek’s clothes were slightly too big on him, the hem of the pants whispering against the floor as he walked, but with his heat-flushed cheeks and lips and clean skin, he looked softer in them. Boyish. Nothing like the street rat of before.

“Sit down,” Derek said, indicating the chair at the table and the kid did as he was told. He noticed that the large yellowish stain on the kid's right cheek was still there. He had initially thought it to be a smear of grime, but clearly it was something that couldn't be washed away with soap and water: an old bruise.

“What’s your name?” Derek said.

“What’s it to you?” the kid said, with a curtness made his hackles rise. “Call me whatever you want, I don’t care. You own me now.”

Derek managed to stifle his anger. “Well, I’d rather use your real name.”

“All that information’s in my documents. You can read, can’t you?”

Derek’s fist slammed on the table, making the plate rattle. A bit of juice sloshed out. The last thing he needed was some weakling human thinking he was easy. He could cut this kid into bloody strips if he so wished. “Look, I don’t need your fucking sass. When I ask you something, you answer me right away. Do I make myself clear?”

The kid had gone pale. He nodded in jerky movements. “Yes.”

“What’s your name?”

“Stiles.”

“What’s your first name?”

“That is my first name.”

Derek was still angry enough that he had half a mind to dump the food in the trash. But that would be childish, not to mention cruel. The kid looked as if a half-hearted push would topple him to his knees. He pushed the plate and cup forward.

“Eat this if you fucking want.”

He had already been extremely cranky at this unexpected turn of events, but what little patience he had left evaporated with the kid’s insolence. He was done dealing with him, at least for now. He returned to his study and shut the door behind him, determined more than ever to finish the portion of work he’d assigned himself for tonight. The kid could figure it out for himself that Derek had prepared the blanket for him, or sleep on the floor. Derek didn’t particularly give a shit either way.

He sat at his desk and picked up his pencil. Outside, he could hear the clink and scrape of spoon against ceramic as the kid ate. He continued to sketch, trying to concentrate on the project in front of him but it was all a blur of lines and color. After a while, there was the creak of springs and leather as the human crawled onto the sofa and laid down.

* * *

 Around two, he quietly left his office and went into his room. The boy was huddled asleep on the couch, the blanket cocooned around him up to his chin as if he wanted to bare as little of his body as possible to the world.

Once in his own bed, Derek spent a sleepless night staring up at the ceiling. Most of it, he spent wondering what he should do. Some of it, he spent remembering how the kid’s eyes had gone wide in fear when Derek snarled at him. He felt bad about it.

In the morning, he rose before the alarm went off and shuffled outside into the still-dark living room. His eyes were gritty and he felt as if his brain was turning into cold oatmeal. He moved quietly as before, if a bit sluggishly, but the boy was conscious enough that he snapped the rest of the way awake. He sprang up into a sitting position, clutching the blanket around him like a shield. Derek ignored him in favor of getting ready for work. He washed up quickly, ran the electric razor over his jaw, then got dressed.

“I’m off to work,” he said as he finished knotting the damned tie around his neck. Normally he didn’t leave this early and never forgot to eat breakfast, but he didn’t feel like staying in the apartment.

One of the things he’d worried about throughout the night was what to do with the kid while he was gone all day. Take him to work? Out of the question. Hire a sitter? Seemed a bit ridiculous and he had no idea whom to ask on such short notice. Leave him at home? It was the only feasible option, really.

Derek had thought to himself, _he doesn’t look like a thief, surely he won’t steal anything_ , then immediately felt a rush of shame, because he clearly hadn’t learned anything from the Kate fiasco. Looks were fucking deceiving. And he knew nothing about the kid; the last thing he was qualified to do was make judgement about his character, or lack thereof. Fortunately, after Derek vacated the place with his laptop, there was nothing of monetary value left to steal. If the human wanted to make off with his clunky box of a television or his secondhand dish set or the paltry number of bargain bin DVDs, Derek wouldn’t chase after him. “Don’t go into the rooms.”

He could only hope that the direct order would be enough to deter the human from poking his nose about. He picked up his leather briefcase bag and slung the strap across his chest. 

Being a wolf and the son of a chef had made him sensitive to hunger. Besides, he’d had enough of listening to the human’s stomach growling all night long; obviously the chunk of lasagna hadn't been enough. Derek had no intention of begrudging him the little food he possessed. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge or the pantry.”

The kid continued to sit there, wrapped in the blanket, gaze fixed on a spot between his feet but clearly listening to everything Derek was saying. 

“You’ve probably already gathered from last night that I have no intention of keeping you. I’m going to look around for someone else you can live with as soon as possible. So…” he trailed off, not knowing how to best finish the sentence. _So don’t get too comfortable_. “Yeah.”

He didn’t know how to act and talk towards the human, and it was painfully awkward. Thankfully, he was almost done. There was only one thing he needed to say. He stopped, his hand curled around the handle of the door.

“I’m sorry I scared you last night,” he said. “I apologize. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

The kid’s stony expression didn’t change, but little dents appeared above his brows and Derek caught a whiff of confusion and surprise in his scent.

Derek left, locking the door behind him.

* * *

 Work was a fifteen minute walk away. Unless the weather was absolutely horrid, Derek rarely took his car. The cool morning air was pleasant on his skin, and he felt better now that he was out of the apartment. On his way, he stopped by at a coffee shop he liked, and along with a cup of strong coffee, bought himself a bagel with cream cheese. He sat down for a while at one of the patio tables and managed to avoid getting in too early to work.

Once there, he sank into his cubicle and blew out a sigh. The coffee had revived him slightly, but the damage done by a sleepless night was too big for caffeine to fix. He did not look forward to the next nine hours. All he could hope for was that no one would bother him too much. Dealing with people wore him out.

The murmur of his coworkers surrounded him as they arrived, one after the other, but he kept his head down and continued on his project.

Erica passed by, high-heels clicking on the tiles. She stopped at his desk, both to hand off some files and to antagonize him. She was particularly good at the latter.

“Hello, gorgeous,” she said.

Derek glanced up at her. “What do you want?”

“Just wanted to see how the golden boy of the company was doing” she said, as she began to touch everything on his desk, the way she always did. "I think Johnny from finance wants to suck your dick."

"Then tell him to get in line." He pulled the bottle of hand sanitizer out of her hand and set it back down. "Do you mind?”

"Not at all," she said, and immediately picked up his box of tissues.

He took that away from her, then leaned back in his chair until it creaked. “Want a human?” he said.

Erica slanted a sly glance at him from under her lashes. “Is that your way of propositioning me for sex?”

“What? No.”

“It’s not your version of ‘let’s make babies together?’”

“We’re both wolves, Reyes. It doesn’t work that way and you know it.”

She was playing with his stapler now, tossing it from hand to hand. “A human?”

“Yeah. One’s just come into my possession but I don’t want him.”

“Why not? What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing, he’s perfectly fine. I prefer being alone, that’s all.” Derek tapped the end of his pencil on the notepad. “He’s…around twenty. He’s healthy, has all his limbs. Eyes, nose, mouth. So, how about it?”

“Nah. Too much work.”

“Well, they’re supposed to work for you, aren’t they? You have no problem getting people to work for you. You’re a pro at it.”

“It’s different. I hear they’re like little kids. I’m bad with kids. The snot-nosed gremlins. Did I tell you how much I hate my four year old nephew?”

“Only about a hundred times. So that’s a no?”

“That’s a no. Ask around.”

She left with a wink and the click-clack of heels, having rearranged everything on his desk, the way she always did. He set the stapler back in its place.

During lunchtime, he went out for a bite to eat. Danny came with him, and they bought gyros at a street truck a block down. They sat on the cement ledge surrounding a huge tree and ate, the sun warming their arms and faces. Derek asked Danny the very question he’d been asking people all morning long.

"Thanks, but I'll have to pass."

“Why not?” he said. "I don't understand. I'm giving him away for free. Why doesn't anyone want a free human? Use him as a maid."

"I'd rather hire a wolf for housework," Danny said. "Humans are difficult to manage, from what I hear. They're weak. Not only that, they're opinionated and two-faced and they'll stab you in the back like crazy."

The words sent a chill up Derek's spine. Did he have another Kate on his hands? He wondered what the human was doing right now. Should he have gone over to check in on him, just to make sure he hadn't set the apartment on fire? His only concern had been that Stiles would steal something; it had never crossed his mind he might deliberately wreck the place. God, when would he ever learn?

“Just sell him online if you’re not keen on keeping him. You’ll get more biters,” Danny said.

“Yeah, but I wanted to bypass all that and – ” Derek groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Fine. Anything to get rid of him.”

“But don’t do it for free. You should get something for him.”

The hour was over. They tossed their empty plates in the trashcan and went back inside the building.

Derek washed his hands and returned to his chair. How much was a human anyway? He tried looking up the information on the internet. The numbers were all over the place, from a hundred to thousands of dollars. From what he could deduce, it mainly depended on the human’s age and pedigree. And looks, of course. To Derek’s surprise, Stiles wasn’t even considered young; you needed to be under 13 for that. Derek had no idea what his age was, but he certainly wasn’t a pre-teen. And considering the criteria, he most likely didn't come from good stock. Was he considered good looking, at least? Derek had no idea. All in all, it seemed he’d fetch a few hundred dollars if Derek was lucky.

Fuck it. He’d wasted enough time and mind space on the matter. He closed the tabs and concentrated on his work.

* * *

 The setting sun was beginning to turn the sky orange when he arrived at the apartment. A few of his coworkers had asked him to join them for dinner at a nearby restaurant and then perhaps the bar for a few drinks, but he'd declined. He detested get-togethers on the best of days, but at a time like this, he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself one bit. 

He trudged up the staircase. The kid’s heart rate went haywire on the other side of the door when Derek fiddled the key around in the lock.

He had half-expected the kid to have taken the chance to run off and Derek would have been lying had he said he wasn’t disappointed to find him still there. And not only had he not run away, he'd kept himself busy, apparently. Derek’s brows rose as he stepped inside and surveyed his apartment.

The place looked tidier. The multitude of crumpled water bottles crowded around the countertop and island were gone. The kitchen sink was empty and the dishes neatly stacked on the rack. The dust had been wiped clean from the windowsill and the cabinets. The cobweb that had been fluttering about in the corner like strands of candy floss was no longer there. 

The rooms were still closed shut. When Derek checked them out, he knew instantly the human hadn’t been inside; the air held no traces of his scent. He changed out of his suit and came back out into the living room where Stiles was waiting for him. He was nervous, shifting from one foot to another.

“I made dinner,” he said.

And so he had. Macaroni and cheese from the box, but he’d dressed it up with bits of bacon and green onions. There was also a bowl of salad greens, with sliced cherry tomatoes and walnuts.

“Oh,” Derek said, disconcerted as he approached the table. This, he hadn’t been expecting. He didn't know what to make of any of it and he hesitated. He had intended to call for delivery at the Chinese restaurant a few blocks down but it seemed like a dick move to refuse to eat what had been made for him.

“It’s gotten a little cold. I didn’t know when you were coming back.”

Derek pulled out a chair and sat down. He gave a discreet sniff to make sure the food hadn’t been poisoned. You never knew.

He picked up the fork that was set beside the bowl. Portion-wise, there was enough for two or three people, but it was piled all in one bowl and Stiles didn’t seem to be interested in joining in. Derek didn’t know what the proper protocol was, whether he should eat alone or have the kid just standing near by the wall like a waiter. 

“Do you like it?” Stiles asked, after a while.

Derek glanced up, startled at the question. “Did you find all the ingredients in the kitchen?”

“Yes,” Stiles answered. He seemed to be holding his breath, waiting for Derek to get angry at him for something.

“It’s good,” Derek said, and watched as Stiles relaxed.

He continued to eat. Stiles remained quiet throughout it all, gnawing on his lower lip and fidgeting. He kept his eyes trained on the floor for the most part, but sometimes they would flicker over Derek's face anxiously. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking. Derek was a few bites away from being done, when he spoke up.

“You don’t have to get rid of me.”

Derek opened his mouth to answer, but Stiles continued in a rush.

“You don’t have to get rid of me. I can clean. I can cook. I’ll do whatever you want. Except for having sex with you. I don’t want to do that. Please don’t make me. But I will do everything else.”

“Look,” Derek said, not unkindly. There was a desperation to Stiles’ voice that was horrible to hear. “I’m sorry but I just can’t. I don’t have the time or the – ”

“I’m not some puppy you need to potty train and walk three times a day. I can more than take care of myself. You won’t have to concern yourself with me at all, I swear.”

“I prefer living alone.”

“You’ll barely notice me. I - ”

Derek interrupted him. “I don’t want you here," he said firmly, in a tone of voice that did not encourage any further arguments or pleas. He didn't want the kid. And that was all there was to it, wasn’t there?

Stiles let out a shuddery breath. “Right.”

Derek nodded, glad that he understood. After dinner, he went into his office to begin the task of putting up an ad. A coworker had suggested a well-known site that might help him and he typed in the address.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, astounded at how many listings there were. Weres selling humans. Humans setting humans. Humans selling themselves. It went on and on, page after page after page. Talk about fucking depressing. He created an account. Ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he began to write in the box requesting a description of his human.

_Brown hair. Brown eyes. Young male. Healthy._

He tactfully did not add “lippy.” That wasn’t false advertising, was it?

There was so much he couldn’t answer, because he didn’t know jack shit about the kid. Height? Weight? Specialties? Ethnicity? Languages spoken? He briefly considered calling Stiles in, which would have been easier and a whole lot more honest than taking a stab at everything, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Asking price?

He wasted some time here, changing the number over and over again, not knowing what was acceptable. But in the end, he managed to settle on a price.

_400 dollars. Willing to negotiate._

When he moved over to the next section, he saw that they asked for a minimum of one photograph of the human to be sold. A reasonable enough request, but it filled Derek with irritation. Holy hell, did they have to make things so fucking complicated? He padded outside, cellphone in hand.

Stiles was washing the dishes, his back to the room. Derek regarded him quietly for a while. The kid seemed to be going through the motions over and over again.

“I need to take your picture. Turn around.” And again, the irrational feeling that he was doing something _heartless_ made his voice gruff.

Stiles twisted the faucet shut. He pulled off the rubber gloves and draped them over the sink divider. He straightened his spine, and looked directly into the phone Derek was holding up.

“Don't move.”

Stiles stood motionless, and Derek steadied his hands before clicking the button. He had intended to take several pictures, and the artist in him balked at the cluttered kitchen background, but something about the situation felt indescribably wrong and horrible and he needed to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“That’ll do,” he mumbled. Stiles wordlessly turned back towards the sink and turned the water back on again.

Derek felt fairly satisfied that he’d gotten a good shot. But when he uploaded the photo onto his laptop screen and saw it in an enlarged state, his heart twisted fiercely. The kid’s eyes were dull and pink, and there was a slight downturn to the corners of his lips. He looked absolutely miserable.

Derek stared at the photograph for a very long time. Then before he could think any more, he clicked on the submit button. The ad was out there, all he had to do was wait for a response. 

He had done the right thing. He knew he had.


End file.
